Polyrhythm
by Victoria LeRoux
Summary: Polyrhythm - the simultaneous use of two or more conflicting rhythms not readily perceived as deriving from one another. A series of A-Z Avengers drabbles. Story 2: Clint and Steve have a conversation about brothers. "They used to say the world needed Steve Rogers. Somehow the world forgot about Bucky Barnes."
1. A is for Alone - Clint

**A** is for **Alone**  
Story 1: Clint _likes_ being alone. He likes the freedom to go on the missions he pleases and cut contact for months at a time. Problem is, Tony doesn't seem to think that's a good enough reason not to move in with the rest of them.  
Characters: Clint, Tony, some Natasha  
Category/Whump: Friendship/No

* * *

Clint likes being alone, which is why he is at first loath to move into the tower.

Stark has fixed him with a pair of loathsome puppy eyes and behind him is Natasha, her glare promising retribution if he doesn't give the right answer.

"I don't know," he drawls slowly. Tony's smirk becomes more of a pout. Clint curbs the desire to wince as Natasha's glare becomes heavier.

"Come on," Stark whines. Clint regrets calling the man a friend after all the missions they've done together. "It'll be a good living arrangement. Rogers will have a sparring partner, Banner will have a test subject, I'll have someone for target practice…"

Clint had heard it all before – the other ten times Stark had asked, ordered, begged, and cajoled him into moving in. Sometimes his advances were subtle – other times, not so much.

Natasha's glare turns predatory and he wonders if she's said yes. It's sometimes hard to tell with her. She probably delights in eternally confusing him.

The problem is, Clint _likes_ being alone. He likes the freedom of being able to climb to the roof and relax, to be able to cut ties any time he wants and to go on long missions without being missed. He also is too intimately familiar with dragging himself to lie painfully on the couch, hoping the blood won't stain the fabric and the wound won't get infected in the three days it takes him to be able to move again. He'll admit it – he's always been a people watcher.

There's another problem: if he moves in, he'll have to acknowledge his bond with the others. He'll have to recognize that if they get hurt, he'll get hurt too. After Coulson-

"-and you're homeless anyway, so I don't see why there's any problem at all," Stark prattles on carelessly, cutting across Clint's darkening thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Hacked your file," Stark brags, looking incredibly smug and like the cat who ate the canary.

Clint raises an eyebrow in reply before reluctantly chuckling. "You really think I rent apartments in my own name?" he asks wryly, amused by the assumption.

The dumbfounded look on Tony's face is enough to provoke another laugh.

He doesn't say yes that day, and he certainly doesn't say yes the next after Tony accidently melts his bow. If he starts crashing on the couch in the penthouse a little more often (in his defense, it's above his paygrade and more comfortable than any bed he'll ever own), and if Natasha starts keeping his favorite cereal in the cabinet, then no one says a thing. He's not ready to move in, not quite yet, and with the exception of Tony, they're okay with that. He has a feeling that they understand him entirely.

He knows that Steve had been the first to say yes - the man had taken the offer like he was on the Titanic and the last lifeboat offered him a ride. Banner had taken a month of wheeling, bribing, and cajoling. Thor… no one is quite sure exactly if Thor had even been asked. One day he just showed up out of the blue and demanded something that sounded to be the Norse equivalent of the Romans' _hospes._ Tony had cheerfully agreed and they haven't seen Thor since. Clint isn't sure if or when Natasha agreed, but one day she started sleeping in the bedroom with the most windows, and she doesn't seem to show any signs of leaving.

It's going to take the Exploding Duck Assassination Attempt to make Clint say yes, but that happens several weeks from now.

Until then, if Clint isn't quite happy, he is more content than he's been in his lifetime.


	2. B is for Brothers - Clint and Steve

**B** is for **B**rothers

Story 2: "They used to say the world needed Steve Rogers. Somehow the world forgot about Bucky Barnes."  
Characters: Steve. Mentions of Bucky. Clint.

I know, it's been a while. But I'm getting back into the swing of things, and I have the next five or six written out already. I'll try to keep the updates rolling for as long as possible.

* * *

"Do you miss him?" Barton asks one day out of the blue.

Steve stares at him, at first confused. "Tony?" he asks in surprise. Tony's the only one not at the Tower due to a massive science convention that's granting him the same award for the fifth (or maybe sixth) time. He had maintained up until the last minute that he wasn't going to go, but Pepper eventually managed to cheerfully strong-arm him into attending.

"Not Tony," Barton responds. There's a long pause and Steve waits patiently for the archer to continue. It hadn't taken him long to learn that Clint doesn't particularly enjoy dredging up any conversation related to emotions, even if it is part of his job description. "Bucky."

The air goes out of Steve like he's been hit in the stomach with a crowbar, and for a moment he's too shocked to reply.

Barton, obviously worrying that he's ventured into unwelcome territory, hastily mumbles, "Sorry. Shouldn't have asked."

The archer's already halfway out of the room by the time Steve gets over his surprise and responds. "No, it's fine," he states to the archer carefully. "Just an unexpected question."

Clint hovers half in and half out of the doorway, uncertainty warring with some other emotion Steve's too tired to attempt to decipher.

"Sit down," Steve orders absentmindedly, pointing to the chair across the room. Instead of walking to it, Clint just makes his way over to the couch Steve sits on and flops down on the floor. "Every day," Steve admits to him honestly, voice slightly hoarse.

Clint carefully folds his feet under him, something Steve's never seen him do before. The marksman obviously has something else to say. Steve doesn't mind waiting. He's had plenty of practice at it. There's a pause that eventually stretches into several minutes. At last something in Clint's stance shifts and that's when the soldier decides Clint wants him to speak.

"I miss them all. Everyone who gave too much for so little," Steve keeps his voice raw and honest, knowing that any lie will be automatically detected and will shatter the fragile trust they've built. He still wonders what made the Howling Commandos stake their trust in him. Sometimes he wonders if they had been a little less trusting or a little less eager to follow his command if things might have turned out for the better.

"Isn't that how it's always been?" Clint clenches one fist in his lap and Steve realizes why he'd sat on the floor, back against the couch. He's taking the opportunity to face away from Steve. He wants to keep hiding.

Steve knows far too much about hiding.

"It's not your fault," he tells Clint slowly, a vague guess formulating at the rear of his mind. Steve doesn't bother looking at the marksman's face. Clint's smiles mean only as much as he wants them to mean. They're not a reliable barometer of his mood, not by a long shot. Steve watches his shoulders, and when the angle is right, the muscles in his back. If Barton trusts the company he's with, they are the surest way to tell the truth.

Every muscle in Clint's back is ready to spring into action, betraying how close to the mark Steve's statement hit.

"You don't know that," Clint argues softly, almost dangerously. He tilts his head away from Steve, fixing his eyes on the dented coffee table just out of reach. "If I were tell you that you weren't responsible for Bucky's death, would you believe me?"

Compelled to answer honestly, Steve replies, "No." He knows what point Clint is attempting to make, but that doesn't mean he'll accept it. "What happened?"

His question is obviously too much too soon because Barton shoves himself to his feet and leaves the room.

* * *

Steve stands in his newly redecorated room, courtesy of an experiment on the Hulk gone wrong. The smell of fresh paint overwhelms the rest of his senses, and for a moment he can do nothing more than sit down and try to get rid of the lightheaded sensation.

He doesn't have time to completely recover because he hears the familiar scraping sound that signals that Barton's about to come through one of the panels in the ceiling.

The archer drops lightly to the ground, his balance not at all disrupted by the small book he's clutching in one hand. To Steve, it appears familiar. The thought doesn't make sense - all of his old possessions had been lost with him.

"Brought you a present," Barton announces. He drops the book onto the desk, looking remarkably smug with himself. For a moment, Steve isn't quite sure why. The shoddily bound book is nothing to look at. A few of the papers once held tight by the binding had come loose, beginning to slip free. The cover itself was black, and in the corner someone had neatly printed a name.

The memory that had been tugging at him came free, and Steve felt one corner of his mouth tugging up in a grin. "My sketchbook?" he scarcely dared to ask.

"Stole it right out of the archives," Barton announces, sprawling back onto the couch they'd lugged into the room just a few days prior. Barton immediately winces and sits back up, the flash of bandage obvious beneath his vest. "Thought you might want it back."

Steve picks it up gingerly, half expecting it to fall apart at his hesitant touch. "Peggy kept it?" he asks in surprise. He had given it to her before the last mission.

"Guess so. Fury had it stashed in the back of the archives, so it wasn't as though it was in high demand. No one else was using it anyway."

"Thanks."

Barton didn't say 'you're welcome', but Steve isn't expecting him to anyway. They've had a few light conversations since Clint had mentioned Bucky and Steve wonders how long the archer has been planning this one. While Steve waits, he casually flips through his sketchbook. Someone must have taken great care to preserve it. The paper is neither brittle to the touch and nor is the ink faded.

He pauses on a half-completed sketch of Bucky and Peggy, smiling slightly as he remembers how off-balance Peggy had made the two of them feel. As he looks at the image, he can feel Bartons's eyes on him.

"Back when things were bad in the eighties," Barton suddenly speaks up, "They used to say the world needed Steve Rogers. Somehow the world always forgot about Bucky Barnes."

The statement provokes both guilty and curiosity. Steve isn't sure which emotion is the right one, so he settles on a weird mix of both as he looks at Barton.

"You two were like brothers, weren't you?" Barton prods. Steve nods, silent. "They'd always talk about you - make you out to be a great, perfect hero."

Steve wonders if Barton's purposefully digging in the knife as he points out that Steve will never be able to live up to expectations.

"But I think everyone forgot that you had others. A team, a girl, and a brother," Barton's eyes are a little wistful as he stares at the paper. It could be just the bad lighting, but Steve thinks he sees a flash of ice blue.

"Yeah, I did."

"About the other day-" Barton blurts out, changing the subject rapidly enough to make Steve's head spin.

"It's fine," Steve interjects quietly before Barton can trip over his own words. "I shouldn't have asked." He knows all about raw wounds.

"You had every right," Clint twists his hands slightly, as though he wishes his bow was within reach. It isn't of course. Tony still is tinkering with it downstairs. "It's just... I haven't talked about it. Him."

_Who?_ Steve knows better than to ask the question aloud. Instead he just silently watches Barton.

"You know, I used to have a brother," Clint blurts out. Steve actually didn't know. Unlike the rest of his team, he didn't read the dossiers SHIELD has on the civilian members of the group. If he'd really wanted to, he could have obtained Natasha and Clint's as well. Unless it posed an active danger to the rest of the team, he's willing to let the others talk to him when they feel ready. Some things were meant to stay secret. "His name was Barney."

_Used to have. Was._ Steve doesn't need to ask what happened.

"We used to be on good terms, until I started archery," Clint waves one hand in the general area of where his bow usually is located. "Went our separate ways eventually. He died, and I should've been able to stop it."

"Did you kill him?" Steve interrupts.

Clint gives him an annoyed look. "No. Everyone asks me that question, and it doesn't help any. Whether I killed him or not, I should have been able to stop it from happening," there's another pause and Steve lets Clint see his wry look. The archer's mouth tugs up in a humorless grin. "But you probably know that, don't you?" Steve does - _a whirlwind of sensations. so cold. trying desperately to make it. he's never been this cold before. too late. always too late_ - but he knows the question is meant to be rhetorical. He just wonders where Clint plans to go with all this. "Just... does it ever go away?" before Steve can ask what, Barton continues. "The guilt, I mean."

_Ah._

Just like last time, Steve teeters between honestly and duplicity, mercy and trust. "No," he admits. It appears as though the air's been let out of Clint's body. "It helps if you're willing to let others share the weight." Clint glances up, truly meeting his eyes for the first time, and Steve sighs. "Let others in."

Barton gives him a look that clearly says _yeah, right_. Steve shrugs and stands, sensing that Barton's listened to enough of his advice today. He can see a faint trickle of blood showing through the white of Clint's bindings.

"When was the last time you changed that?"

Barton follows his gaze, puzzled. Evidently surprised, he pokes it and winces. "Must've torn a stitch crawling up there. Nat's going to kill me."

Steve raises an eyebrow at Barton. "Promise to think about what I said, and I won't tell her if you won't."

Clint's look turns shrewd, and he considers it. Steve can see him mulling over every pitfall and trap. It takes him a few moments to come to his decision.

"Deal," he states with one of those rare, honest grins.

* * *

Reviews are appreciated, printed out, and hung on the refrigerator.


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